


Music is my Blanket

by rivers_bend



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Mile High Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy hates flying. Adam has a distraction for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music is my Blanket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autoschediastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoschediastic/gifts).



> The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened.

They've been re-routed twice due to horrible weather, and now they're on a tiny commuter plane somewhere north of Tallahassee. Tommy's next to the window with the shade drawn so he doesn't have to look out, and Adam's next to him, holding his hand tight, his other palm heavy and reassuring on Tommy's thigh. It helps, but not a lot. Adam has also given Tommy his blanket, so Tommy's got one wrapped around his head and shoulders and another over his lap, pulled up to his chest. He probably looks ridiculous, but he doesn't care even a little bit. He fucking hates tiny planes, and he hates them even more when they're flying through storms.

"Hey, baby, we're gonna be okay," Adam says, squeezing Tommy's hand and his leg.

Tommy nods and squeezes back.

Twenty more minutes of bouncing through the sky with absolutely no chance of any kind of alcoholic beverage materializing has Tommy nearly breaking Adam's fingers. Adam's trying to talk to him, but all he can hear is his own heartbeat. Then he realizes the hand on his thigh is now on his dick, just the right amount of pressure.

"Oh," Tommy says.

"Yeah." Adam steals a kiss off his jaw. "Oh." Because he is a very good man, now that he has Tommy's attention, Adam undoes Tommy's fly and reaches inside.

This seems like a much better plan than sitting here freaking out.

It could be better. The angle is awkward, and Tommy's jeans are in the way, and he can't really spread his legs much in the tiny airline seat to give Adam more room, so he's mostly squeezing, rubbing with his thumb just above Tommy's balls, coaxing him hard instead of working him. But it's making Tommy's knees go to the good kind of jelly instead of cold dread, and he'll take it, oh my god, he'll take it.

Once he's hard, he starts working his hips trying to get more friction, and Adam has to remind him where they are, nosing aside Tommy's blanket to press the words right to his ear. "People all around us, baby. Keep still for me."

Right. Because that's fair. But Tommy does as he's told, using the hand not gripping Adam's tight to tent the blanket out more, try to hide what they're doing.

"If you gave me my other hand," Adam whispers, "It might help."

Tommy doesn't really want to let go, and he's not sure he wants to help. Now that he's hard, it's the kind of perfect torture that could distract him for hours. Especially if he has to concentrate on staying still, letting all the friction come from the slow, unsteady movement of Adam's hand. So instead of letting go, he pushes the knot of their hands off the arm rest into Adam's lap, dragging the corner of the blanket with it so he can snug the back of his wrist up against Adam's junk and not attract too much attention. Adam's stomach jerks against Tommy's arm, but he doesn't try to pull Tommy's hand away. He does bite Tommy's ear though. Tommy counts that as a win.

As the teasing pressure from Adam's fingers starts to make him leak, Adam smears it around, draws tiny maddening circles around Tommy's slit, gathers the slick with the flat of his palm, squeezes harder to see if he can get Tommy to make more, and fuck it, it so could not be better. Tommy's thighs are clenched so tightly they're starting to burn, and he's having a lot of trouble getting oxygen without breathing like he just ran a marathon, and he wants more so fucking badly and he wants it just like this.

The pilot comes on to announce they've cleared the worst of the storm and the crew will now begin a brief beverage service before preparing the cabin for landing. Tommy has never wanted a drink less in his life.

"Do I make you come right now?" Adam whispers so soft even Tommy barely hears it. "Or do I stop, finish taking care of you at the hotel after we check in?"

Tommy shakes his head, not trusting himself to answer discreetly if he tries to speak.

"No, don't make you come?" Adam asks.

Tommy shakes more vigorously. He needs to come now. _Needs_ to.

But Adam apparently misunderstands, because suddenly his hand is gone.

And then, "Would you like a drink, sir?" from a flight attendant who is _right there_ , who Tommy did not even see coming.

"No, thank you," Adam says, and then her eyes are on Tommy, and she's expecting him to speak.

"No," he rasps. "Thanks." He's wearing a blanket on his head. Hopefully she'll think he's sick and not, like, about to die of blue balls. Speaking of which, it's about a million degrees under all these blankets now, and he's not in a position to take them off.

Especially not now that the seatbelt sign is off and everyone is up and down making use of their brief moment of freedom to move about the cabin.

Adam looks like he's trying not to laugh. He gets a jab in the nuts for his troubles, but that doesn't wipe the smirk off his face.

"I really am sorry," he says softly once he's contained himself. "I was only kidding about stopping, but then she was standing there, and it seemed--"

He looks contrite, and Tommy decides to forgive him. But he better be getting _amazing_ sex once they land. "I better be getting amazing sex once we land," he says, glaring to make sure Adam gets the point.

"Anything you want, baby," Adam answers, grinning, not caring at all that he's being glared at. "Plus room service."

"You bet your ass plus room service."

"You have to admit I'm a pretty good distraction, though," Adam adds.

Tommy doesn't have to admit anything. Which Adam knows is practically his fucking motto, so he doesn't feel bad that he's not gonna say a word.

By the time the seatbelt sign comes back on, Tommy's soft enough he can tuck himself back into his pants. As soon as he's done, though, he gropes for Adam's hand again, lacing their fingers and holding on tight for landing. Adam squeezes back, and puts his other hand heavy and reassuring on Tommy's thigh. It helps. A lot.


End file.
